


I wish I had Jessie's girl

by spacegirl11



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Drug Use, Exhibitionism, How Do I Tag, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirl11/pseuds/spacegirl11
Summary: Slash knows damn too well he doesn't deserve someone like Axl Rose, but he's also sure as hell that someone like Izzy Stradlin doesn't deserve him either.
Relationships: Axl Rose/Izzy Stradlin, Axl Rose/Slash/Izzy Stradlin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	I wish I had Jessie's girl

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on Rockfic.  
> This story bully me into existence, it literally didn't let me write anything else until it was finished, it's loosely based on the prompt anonima left for the ficmas tree that consisted in Slash wanting a singer, but having a difficult time getting Axl away from Izzy.  
> I started a month ago but I couldn't finish it, but it's finally done.  
> Anyway, this is mainly an IzzAxl story with Slash on the mix, a self-indulgent threesome with possessive Izzy, slutty Axl, and accidental voyeurism, and of course, I had to pick the most cliché song for this.  
> Thanks for reading, stay safe, take care and I'll see you around, pardners 💜

He has to be the best singer he ever saw in all Hollywood, and Slash has seen plenty of singers all trying to sound like whatever shit is on the radio.

But he’s different, prancing around like a madman, smashing the mic stand on the stage, but it was the almost bluesy quality to his voice underneath the high-pitched screams what inevitably draw him in, setting aside the fact that he was somewhat attractive.

And maybe Slash is high, so high the singer must be an angel; sometimes the redhead looks in his direction, and the brunet’s heart beats faster like he couldn’t believe this creature could breathe the same air as him; but then, he had to fuck things up.

The singer walks to the other side of the stage, where a guitarist with black hair is playing, and slings an arm around his shoulders, bringing him closer to the mic, singing together, they might as well kiss; Slash didn’t even see him.

He plays like any other fucker who still believes he’s in his mom’s garage and thinks it’s hot shit with his unbuttoned t-shirt, long leather coat, and stupid hat. Like everybody on the Sunset Strip.

This night, Slash has a mission, and this time, failure is not an option, it's all Steven’s fault. The little shit pestered him for weeks, begging him to come and see this band, _‘They’re great, Slash, you gotta see ‘em’_.

The curly-haired boy needs this particular singer for his band. He’s not interested in the guitar player; he and his trusty Les Paul are more than enough; Slash doesn’t need a phony ass dude.

When their set is over, Slash waits until the redhead sits on one stool because the bouncers won’t let him go backstage; it’s enough that he doesn’t have an ID to be there at all.

He slides beside him as confident as his nineteen-year-old awkwardness would let him; the singer glanced at him and rolled his eyes, exasperated around the can of beer he’s sipping.

Even when he’s glaring at the brunet underneath his limp teased hair and smudged make-up, he still looks attractive; Slash flashes a smile, acting coy, trying to appear charming.

“You again? What are you doing here?” whimpers the redhead, rubbing the bridge of his nose, his face scrunches adorably, “You don't have no one else to bother?”

“Join my band,” the redhead makes a face, he opens his mouth to retort at the brunet, Slash interrupts him by putting a finger over his glossy lips, “C’mon, these guys are subpar and mediocre at best, join my band, Red, promise you won’t regret it.”

“You don’t know when to give up. Lemme understand, Slasher, right? You want me to join your band with you and your junkie friend,” Axl laughed loudly until his belly ached, “I already told you, kid, it’s Izzy and me, or there’s no deal, sorry.”

Axl shrugs, and the damn kid in front of him frowns, a pout on his already lush lips, he’s cute, with his brown, sun-kissed skin, and curly hair that looks like a fluffy afro, the brunet wasn’t even mad that he called him by the wrong nickname.

“I don’t understand why you want him so bad, he doesn’t play as good as me, I can do it better than him, and you know it.” maybe Slash was getting too cocky and overconfident, the guitarist wasn’t that bad, he quite liked his rhythm.

The redhead glared daggers at him; Slash expected him to punch him in the face for bad-mouthing his friend. Axl got up and took his can of beer with him.

“I know I told you’re cool because you don’t play like Eddie, but I’m not joining your stupid band, now scram, kid,” Axl walks off, and towards the black-haired guitarist.

Slash thought his eyes and the bad lighting of the bar were deceiving him, he clearly saw the brunet sneaking an arm to the singer’s waist, pulling him closer.

The guitarist, looks in his direction, with piercing chestnut eyes, staring at Slash, making him uncomfortable, squirming in his place, he finally huffs and leaves the bar, he’s going to get that singer one way or another, that asshole doesn’t deserve the redhead’s talent.

**. . .**

“Join my band. What do you want me to do? Get on my fuckin’ knees?” Slash pleads, pouting and shoulders sagging, sounding like a petulant child. Axl spits his drink, coughing in the back of his hand.

“You better back off, kid; this is gettin’ out of hand. Why are you stalkin’ me?” Axl leaves the kitchen; he’s at a house party with Izzy, who laughs silently, shaking his head.

The curly-haired dude has been following Axl around like a lost puppy since they arrived.

“C’mon, I’ll do anythin’, Axl, you name it, and I’ll gladly do it,” Slash dropped to his knees, clinging to Axl’s leg, perhaps the younger boy it’s more hammered than what he imagined, or the dignity he has left is nonexistent at this point in his life.

“Get up, you, asshole” the redhead shook his leg until Slash let him go, falling and landing on his butt, “I already told you multiple times, no Izzy, no band, understood? Now leave me alone.”

“Fuck you,” Slash angrily points at the redhead, swaying a little when the room doesn’t stop spinning. He sees colors dancing in his peripheral vision.

Axl crosses his arms and juts his hip a little, tilting his head to the right, looking defiantly at the younger boy.

“Alright then, fuck you too,” spoke Izzy with a gentle voice. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, he’s not doing anything particularly threatening, but Slash feels a little intimidated.

They’re both so cool; the brunet feels like an idiot with his leather pants his mum made for him and the fishnet around his arm.

Slash huffs and rolls his eyes, sitting on the couch next to Steven, sulking. Good, they can keep their shitty unsuccessful band all to themselves; he doesn’t need them.

The brunet downs three shots of whisky, glancing around the room; he can’t see both dickheads. They completely disappeared from the place.

The party progressed as always; he shoots up in the bathroom upstairs and with a rubber band around his arm, his heart pounding faster inside his ribs, tasting euphoria in his lips.

Slash stumbles through the hallway towards one of the rooms. He needs to lie down for a minute before he pukes on the carpet; he throws himself in the comfy bed, groaning.

He hears someone coming and suppressed voices blending with the music downstairs; Slash panics and rapidly hides inside the closet.

It’s tight, it reeks of mothballs. It almost smells like his grandma’s place. He can barely look at the figure through the crack of the door. The brunet has to squint to recognize that fucking, ridiculous hat.

Izzy looks around the room and casually lies down on the bed like a starfish. His ring-clad fingers unzip his black jeans, palming himself through the fabric, and he’s getting _hard_.

The door opens again, and Slash expects the brunet to be on his feet and get out with his tail between his legs. But he smiles, broadly even his eyes had that mischievous glint, Slash could recognize that long, shiny red hair everywhere, Axl sits down next to the brunet who sneaks his arms around the singer’s waist familiarly.

“Took you long enough, Rosie,” Izzy stands in front of the redhead and pulls him by the keys hanging around his neck into a heated kiss, hands wandering everywhere.

Slash doesn’t know what to do but is too late to leave. He can’t look away; he’s mesmerized by the way their lips crash together and the rustling of clothes falling on the ground. It’s an accident, the younger boy swears, he’s not a fuckin’ pervert, he can’t bolt out, a knot forms in his stomach as his blood runs cold, he’s seen men kissing before, and Slash won’t elaborate on that time he made out with Stevie.

The brunet looks away for a brief second when Izzy is stark naked; they fall on the bed in a mess of tangled limbs, Axl spreads his legs obscenely, and soon the brunet fingers him open, Slash is well aware of how gay sex works, Izzy’s fingers thrust in and out with practiced motion, breathy moans left the redhead’s mouth.

“C’mon, Stradlin, don’t tease, enough of that,” Axl climbs on top of the brunet, straddling him; he lines his entrance with the brunet’s cock and sinks, both men groaning, and Slash thinks this is like staring at a car crash, he knows it’s wrong to look, but he can’t help it.

It takes Slash a moment to realize Izzy is not wearing a condom, and although he can’t knock up the singer, he knows about that new disease gay people are dying from, that could only mean one thing _: they’ve been doing this for a long time._

Axl is riding the brunet’s cock with practiced thrusts of his slender hips. Their bodies fit together perfectly like they're made for each other; Slash can only watch as Izzy’s cock slides in his tight hole as if the fucker belongs there. The curly-haired boy ignores his own hard dick straining inside his leather pants.

“You’re gonna leave me and join that dude’s band?” asks Izzy, panting, looking at the redhead with half-lidded eyes. Axl shakes his head, biting his bottom lip.

“’Course no, babe, you know that’s not the deal, _ah, fuck right there_.”

This is not a simple fuck; there’s an odd tenderness in the way Izzy’s hands are firmly on the redhead’s tiny hips and then caresses his cheek; they’re _making love_. Axl wraps his hand around his cock, stroking himself to come at the same time as Izzy; he comes growling and biting the ginger’s shoulder.

Then it’s over, Axl’s cum coats both of their tummies, Izzy cleaned it with the comforter. He didn’t care this wasn’t even his house; they got dressed in silence.

Slash stands up, his leg cramping from the position he’s been sitting in, but he ends up knocking some box above. It falls on the ground loudly, and the brunet freezes, a hand over his mouth.

“What the fuck…” Axl is immediately in front of the closet door and opens it; Slash falls on the floor, hoping the earth swallowed him whole, “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Who would’ve thought the kid’s a peepin' Tom, you do look like one,” the brunet’s lips curved around the filter of a cigarette, taking a long drag.

Slash should apologize and hightail out of there because judging by the look on Axl's face. The redhead wants to either punch him in the face or kill him, maybe both if he really thinks about it, he would probably beat him until his face was unrecognizable and his mum has to identify him by his dental records. He winces.

“I wasn't…” there’s no way in hell Slash could leave unscathed from this one. He doesn't even have a good excuse, “I’m sorry ok, I didn’t mean to intrude, honest.”

Izzy walks closer to them, he has a half-smile on his lips, Slash closes his eyes, waiting for the punch to his face, he deserves it, but it never comes.

Instead, the brunet is looking down at his crotch, where Slash is still painfully hard, his hand rests on the buckle of the curly-haired boy's pants; he opens his eyes again, Izzy was grinning. Slash feels the heat on his cheeks.

“Who would've thought, you’re full of surprises, kid; you’re turned the fuck on,” Axl glances at both of them, his eyebrows knitted together, “Is that why you’ve been following us around? Holy shit, wait a minute, you have the hots for Axl. I gotta hand it to you, kid, you have good taste.”

The brunet is in front of his face, so close Slash can see the texture of his skin and his nose ring gleaming weakly under the yellowish light of the room; Izzy grips him by his hair, his mouth near the shell of his ear. His breath is hot against Slash’s skin.

“What a shame, too bad he belongs to me,” the brunet chuckles darkly and puts out the cigarette in the wall next to Slash’s head. He shouldn't be this horny, but the brunet is making it difficult.

“Why are you talkin’ about me as if I was a piece of furniture?” the redhead rolled his eyes and grabbed Izzy’s hand; before leaving the room, Axl glares at Slash one last time.

Slash waits for a couple of minutes before making his way downstairs; he couldn't look at them. He walks home and lays down on his bed.

After all the commotion, surprisingly, he’s still hard, he jerks off to the memory of Axl bouncing on Izzy’s dick, chestnut eyes and thin lips curving around a cigarette filter.

**. . .**

It happened a second time, and Slash has no excuse this time, he was smoking in the alleyway outside the bar, alone because Steven ditches him to go out with his girlfriend. When the heavy metal door burst open.

The brunet crouches next to the dumpster, holding the smoke, his lungs burning, eyes watery, staying still. It’s Izzy and Axl. The slightly taller boy pushes the redhead on the wall, kissing him roughly; Slash can hear his lips smacking, teeth biting.

“Fuckin’ tease, wearing those assless chaps, fuck, you should see how that Slash pervert was ogling at you like he wants a piece of that,” Izzy hisses between kisses.

And he’s right; Axl is wearing nothing but a leather vest with leopard print on the inside and the assless chaps with nothing underneath it.

Slash can see his little round, pale ass; he looks like a damn queer biker with his hair styled like that; he definitely used more than one can of hairspray, so it’s really not Slash's fault to stare longer than usual.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” Axl raises an eyebrow, a naughty glint in his greenish eyes, still teasing the brunet, Izzy grabs Axl by the chin, never breaking eye contact with him.

“Get on your knees,” Izzy’s voice is dark, demanding, dominant, and it does things to Slash’s dick. Axl doesn’t need to be told twice, the concrete rough against his skin.

He pops open the button of Izzy’s jeans, pulling the zipper down agonizingly slow; the brunet’s cock is half-hard by the time Axl gets him inside his mouth.

Izzy’s eyes roll to the back of his head and a breathy moan escapes from between his lips, the singer’s lips are soft and sweet, and Slash is curious about how he takes the brunet’s length like that, Izzy is by no means _small_ judging by what he saw the other night.

The brunet’s cock disappears inside Axl’s mouth as he hollows out his cheeks, choking sounds echoing through the night, and tears gather in the corner of his eyes.

“This mouth and this tight little hole are mine, won’t blame anyone who wants someone as pretty as you.”

Swallowing hard, Slash feels his dick hardened inside his jeans. He should feel ashamed of himself; he’s staring at them like a fucking freak, but it’s the thrill of both men finding him that makes all of this more interesting.

Izzy’s lips are parted in ecstasy; sweat collects on his brow. Before he can finish inside the redhead’s mouth, the brunet sneaks a hand on his naked ass, caressing his cheeks, and sinks his fingers inside his rim of muscle.

Slash tried to do the same the other night in the privacy of his room. And it hurts like a bitch. He doesn’t understand how the redhead can take two or even three fingers.

The brunet palms his cock over his jeans, later when he’s sober, he would probably regret all of this, but he stills wraps a hand around his prick, his movement matching Axl's bobbing head.

Izzy picks the redhead up like he weighs nothing, and Axl wraps his legs around Izzy’s waist, his back against the cold bricks, hips snapping with every thrust, fucking him against the wall, it looks straight out from low-budget porn, but Slash can’t stop staring.

“Right there, Izz, don’t fuckin’ stop, I’m close,” pants the redhead, his arms tightly around the brunet’s neck, kissing him deeply.

Izzy picks up his pace; it’s hard, fast, and relentless, Slash does too, the redhead is screaming like a fucking porn actor until he is coming with his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

The brunet doesn’t stop until Axl’s entrance is dripping with his seed, and it slides down his naked thighs. He gathers it in his fingers and feeds it to the singer, who sucks his digits clean.

The guitarist helps Axl stand; he’s not sure his wobbly knees would support his weight. He brings the redhead close to his chest with gentleness, caressing his cheeks and kissing the top of his head, burying his nose in his strawberry red strands, smelling the cigarette smoke and the cheap soap they use. 

“Don’t you want a new toy?” asks the redhead raising his eyebrows and giggling, Izzy shakes his head and goes back inside, pinching Axl’s butt.

“Don’t tell me that you’re thinking…” Axl shrugs a bright smile on his lips.

Slash bites his bottom lip, before he’s creaming his pants, he curses himself mentally, coming down from his climax, they returned to the bar, but the brunet swears that the redhead looked at him, like the little shit _knew_ that he was there the whole time, looking at them like a pervert. 

**. . .**

Sometimes, Slash would see them making out in the alleyway, blowing each other in the bathroom stalls, or fucking like damn rabbits in whatever party they attend.

He avoids going to the bars and clubs he loves because Slash knows they’re going to be there; he won’t go unless Steven or any of his friends are there.

Next time it happened; Slash is damn sure that fuckers are doing it on purpose. It’s a slow Friday night, some nameless band is playing on the stage, and he’s not interested, but Slash has been watching them all night. Both men pretend to be drunk while dancing and grinding together or taking advantage of the dim lights and kissing.

People around them can only view it as just two guys messing around, but the brunet knows better, he knows what Izzy’s fingers can do and the way Axl moans, and he’s not falling for that shit, no matter how good they can be at pretending.

Every time they would make out in the corner, he can feel Axl’s eyes over him while he bites at Izzy’s lips until they’re red and swollen, those green eyes fixed directly on the younger boy.

Slash feels a shiver run down his spine; he looks down at the burning cigarette between his fingers. They would never want something with him. Slash is just a pervert, he should leave them alone.

Someone sits on the stool next to him, it’s Axl, with an insufferable smile on his lips; Slash doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or kiss that stupid and very pretty face, Izzy is next to the ginger, his nose scrunches a little, he toys with the lighter; the flame flickering on and off.

They sit in awkward silence; Slash feels his heart hammering against his ribs. He should’ve written a letter to Stevie in case he disappears, and they found his bloated body on a dumpster. Axl cleared his throat, and the brunet turns.

“We know you’ve been watchin’ us, Slasher,” Axl tells him casually, twirling a curl in his finger; his green eyes don’t stop darting between his face and his lips, “We saw you outside in the alleyway. It seems you enjoy the show.”

There’s no point in denying anything that Axl said. It wouldn’t end well for him; he has to bite his tongue and don’t lie about the nights he jacked off to the image of the same redhead in front of him with a mouthful of Izzy’s cock or the brunet’s dark and dominant voice; it had been the best orgasms he had in a long time.

Nervously, Slash glances at the brunet. Izzy has that same inexpressive and impassive face; it’s borderline making him anxious, to the point he’s going to throw up.

“I’m sorry, ok? It was all an accident. I didn’t mean to, that's fucked up even for me,” the words come out of his mouth as if someone turns on the faucet; he’s not sure it makes sense what he’s saying.

“An accident?” quips Izzy, a little forceful, he’s not the kind of guy to get mad easily, but something about the pervert makes his blood boil, “Yeah, maybe the first time you hide in the closet was an accident,”

Izzy finally lights a cigarette, going back to that stoic expression, and the redhead rests his hand over his thigh, giving it a light squeeze to calm him down.

It’s always the other way around, but Axl knows how irritated the younger kid makes him; it goes beyond the petty rivalry of who is the best guitarist.

“But the point is, did you enjoy it?” Axl smiles, all boyish and innocent, but he’s not fooling anyone.

_I did_

“No,” Slash shakes his head vehemently and takes a sip of his beer. He flinches when Axl’s hand travels to his thigh and then to his crotch, his dick twitches between his legs.

“You said you would do anything to have me in your band; let’s hang out and talk about it tomorrow if you’re interested,” Axl winks at him, pulling his hand away.

“Is this a joke? Both of you get off on watching me suffer?” Slash does a vague gesture, blinking twice.

“It’s no joke, Slash,” Axl started getting frustrated and a little exasperated.

“Yeah, like hell I believe you two, ‘ _Let’s join this pervert's band, it's fine, he just watches us while we have sex.’_ ”

“You wanna come yes or no, simple like that,” Izzy blurts out, getting up and running a hand through his hair. The boy is getting on his nerves.

“Tomorrow at seven, think about it” Axl inched closer to the younger boy, pressing his soft lips behind the shell of his ear.

He shivers, the redhead lingers for a moment before getting up and following Izzy out of the bar.

Slash’s pants feel a little tighter and he curses himself mentally, it’s humiliating to walk to the bathroom and jerk himself off, but tomorrow doesn’t sound that bad.

**. . .**

His heart is pounding by the time Slash makes it to the motel, the butterflies in his stomach are fluttering violently, he needs a drink; the brunet turns around, ready to get the fuck out of there before anyone sees him.

He’s going to forget all of this happened, he can find another singer and call it a day, but on the other hand, they’re both so hot, and he can’t pass this opportunity, he can't get his feet to move. The door squeaks open, and Axl is behind it. The brunet winces; it’s too late.

“Hey, you made it,” Axl beamed at him, moving aside to let him in.

Izzy is sitting on the bed with a can of beer between his legs; he looks at Slash unamused. Before going back to stare at the television, Axl offers him a can of beer.

“Thought you won’t show up,” Izzy added and it’s all he does to acknowledge the younger boy, Axl rolls his eyes.

“I appreciate that you came, “the redhead sits beside the brunet.

At first, they try to be casual about it, a discreet kiss here and there. Izzy would sneak his hand on Axl’s thigh and give his cock a squeeze under his leather pants; Slash sips his beer, trying to focus on the ugly carpet.

“Don’t be shy, Slash,” Axl pats the space next to him, urging him to sit down.

Izzy’s lips trail down the redhead’s neck, sucking and biting the milky skin, Axl pulls Slash close, holding his face with both hands, caressing his cheeks, he presses his lips against the brunet’s.

It’s a little different from kissing a girl, Axl’s lips are not full, and he doesn't taste like any fruity lip gloss, but they’re softer than what he imagined; he kisses all gentle and sweet.

For a moment, Slash doesn’t know what to do, but he kisses the redhead back, his tongue prodding at his mouth; he forgets Izzy is there at all, watching them with his chestnut eyes.

Axl gets up and his lips are replaced by Izzy’s. The brunet’s lips are slightly chapped. He tasted like beer and cigarettes. He kisses more urgently, more heated, bites his lips, yanks at his curls. Next to them, Axl’s breath hitches, cursing softly.

Izzy deepens the kiss, the same way he would do to have Axl all hot and bothered, begging for his dick; they pull away, a string of saliva still connecting them, he leaves Slash panting and his eyes half-lidded, a little glazed, the flower child smirks, feeling all prideful.

“You’re not gonna chicken out on us, right, Hudson? I know Axl can be a little intimidating, but don’t worry,” Izzy gestures towards Axl’s crotch, “Get on your knees.”

His _damn voice_ , all commanding, Slash never thought he could get attracted to that, he drops to his knees on the suspicious beige carpet in front of the redhead, his legs splayed.

The younger man caresses his thigh, as Axl unzips his jeans, his erection sprung free, and Slash has seen it before. He knows the redhead is thick and Izzy is longer and _thicker_ ; the singer strokes his dick lazily.

“C’mere,” Axl’s voice is reassuring as he pulls Slash close by his hair. His fingers are gentle, the same way he caressed his face.

His cock is in front of his face, leaking at the tip, and Slash can’t stop staring; it’s meaty, the thick musky smell mixed with sweat and cheap soap, it’s mouthwatering, makes his head spin, Slash gets him inside his mouth gagging, his eyes watering.

“Yeah, just like that, see? It wasn’t so difficult,” Slash drags his tongue across the head of Axl’s cock, just like girls would do, and the redhead likes it. The older man pulls at his hair, urging him to do it again.

“Slash,” moans the redhead, getting closer and closer to his climax, holding his hair with both hands, massaging his scalp.

He doesn’t taste awful, a little salty but nothing unpleasant; he tongues over the slit and sucks, creating a little friction, bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks out.

The guitarist hears a zipper next to him, the rustling of clothes, and another low moan; Izzy is stroking his cock, watching as Slash struggles to breathe with his mouth full of Axl’s prick, the ginger’s hand smooth over his thick curls. The flower child moves closer to him, palming his cock through his jeans.

“Don’t worry, it’s just Izz, he wants to help,” Axl coos at him. The brunet puts a hand on his shoulder, almost reassuring, while with his other hand working his dick, it feels damn good.

Izzy pops open the button of his jeans, pulling them down, his balls hanging over the elastic of his boxers, warm fingers around his cock.

“You like to watch, don’t you, Hudson?” asks Izzy, his breath heavy, chest heaving, fondling his balls. Slash lets go of Axl’s cock, saliva dripping from his chin and his already full lips swollen, “Tell me what you wanna watch.”

“I want Axl to suck me off while you fuck him in all fours,” Slash casually says, as if he didn't jerked off to that image, Axl's eyes widened for a second before laughs lazily.

“Told you, baby, he wasn’t a pussy,” Slash's cock twitches, he takes the t-shirt off, Izzy throws the redhead in the bed.

Axl gets on his hands and knees, ass in the air and looking at him with those lovely green eyes, and the redhead has never looked so beautiful.

Izzy squirts a generous amount of lube in his hand and sinks a finger inside his hole; Axl lets out a cry and shuts his eyes, glossy lips parted, Slash can only watch as the brunet stretches his entrance. The brunet slides a third finger slowly.

He notices how Izzy is gentle with him while giving the redhead what he wants; the singer looks at Slash with pleading eyes.

Slash wastes no time in climbing in bed and standing in front of Axl; the singer swallows him whole without gagging, his mouth is hot, wet, and too good, the brunet closes his eyes, feeling like he died and this is heaven, his cock is red and leaking at the tip, smearing pre-come on his lips.

The redhead moans, sending vibrations directly into his cock. Slash watches as Izzy sinks his cock inside, both hands firmly on his hips.

Izzy moves at a slow pace, and the ginger’s eyes roll to the back of his head. This should disgust him, three men fucking on a nasty motel room that probably has roaches, other vermin, and empty cans of beer, but it’s exhilarating. Slash notices how the skin around Axl’s rim stretches with Izzy’s cock; he comes too fast, spilling his seed on Axl’s face. The brunet finishes inside, pulling out with an obscene squelch.

They lie in the bed with only their uneven breaths, Slash gets up and grabs his pack of Parliaments from his jeans. Izzy eyes him warily, the redhead is falling asleep with an arm tightly around the rhythm guitarist; Slash offers him a cigarette, he gladly accepts. The nicotine mixing with the stench of sex. Both men go outside, Izzy only wearing his jeans.

“He loves you, “Slash doesn’t know why he just stated the obvious; sure that Izzy is well aware of that, “I thought you guys only did it to have sex, but the way he looks at you as if you were the only thing that makes him _happy_ in this world.”

“You don’t know Axl as good as me, but they have rejected him all his life,” Izzy chuckles, taking a long drag, “Birds of a feather flock together, I guess.”

“Do you love him as much as he does?” Slash asks, his voice a mere whisper. An ambulance passes by, blaring his siren, getting lost in the distance. Izzy doesn’t answer, but the brunet can see it in his eyes.

“You should’ve seen how hard he came with the mere thought you were watching.”

Slash blushes hard and hides his face between his hands.

“Does the offer still stand?” inquires Izzy after a moment of awkward silence.

“What…?” Slash was lost among his thoughts about how he would never get someone to look at him the exact way Axl looks at Izzy.

“Your band, we’re joining your band,” Slash notices how Izzy emphasizes the word ‘ _we’_ , and he will not question it; he’s the one in charge. It was clear from the beginning.

Izzy finished his cigarette and pulls the brunet closer until their lips were brushing, and he could smell the stench of sex on his skin and his breath against his face.

“But make no mistake, Hudson, the sweet boy, is mine.”

Slash remained silent, smoking, he watched as Izzy returned to the room and laid down next to Axl, who nuzzled closer against him, cuddling.

The redhead is whispering what Slash could imagine being sweet words on the brunet’s ear. And the guitarist realizes it hurts, but it’s in plain sight.

_They’re in love._

The curly-haired boy threw the butt of his cigarette in the ground before stomping it with his sneakers; he did the walk of shame back to his house.

Stevie asks him a bunch of questions, but the brunet grabs a can of beer from the fridge.

“We got the singer.” 


End file.
